


Repetition is Key

by deanlovescastielswormstache



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanlovescastielswormstache/pseuds/deanlovescastielswormstache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is when Enjolras makes the first move and Grantaire needs it to be repeated. Again. And again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repetition is Key

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Could you repeat that?" E/R.

It had been a relatively tame Amis meeting. No one had broken anything, thanks to Joly’s insistence that Bossuet remain seated due to his sprained ankle. Bahorel was too tired to get into a fight and Courfeyrac had to study for a test, so his usual vivacity was somewhat subdued. Enjolras was able to get through the meeting rather quickly, even though Grantaire put up passionate resistance as usual, but Enjolras had planned that into his speech and was relatively pleased at the points he had made and the criticism that would help him make his arguments stronger. He started collecting his papers, the unofficial cue that the meeting was over, and all but Bossuet began to get up and mingle. 

Enjolras looked up just in time to see Grantaire starting to get up and leave, and hurried his movements in order to catch him before he left. He muttered a rushed goodbye to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who were too absorbed with each other to do more than nod in his general direction and then resume their mutual adoring expressions towards each other. Enjolras left with his coat half on and his bag thumping against his side as he took brisk steps after Grantaire. He caught up, then took a moment to finish putting his coat on and smooth his hair somewhat before falling into step beside him. Grantaire looked somewhat surprised, but didn’t say anything. “Can I walk you home?” Enjolras asked, glad the twilight hid his darkening cheeks. 

Grantaire quirked his left eyebrow, and looked him over. Enjolras felt his face heat even more. “It seems that I have little choice in the matter,” Grantaire smirked, but he sounded vaguely pleased, which Enjolras took as a positive sign. He let the silence fall between them, interspersed with their footsteps and Grantaire’s occasionally whistling. Enjolras wondered what Grantaire would do if he reached through the empty space between them to clasp their hands together, as he had wanted to do for months. He contented himself with stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat and doing his utmost not to stare at Grantaire’s profile for too long, as that was generally frowned upon. Courfeyrac had been working with Enjolras on social cues, and he got the  _stop staring, you are scaring other people_  quite often from him. 

Enjolras wondered how Combeferre and Courfeyrac had done this, had managed to remain friends for so long when they were secretly in love. How could the spend every minute of their time together and not cross the line into lovers, how could they stop themselves from gazing too long, from touching the other’s hair, from blurting out the fact that their heart was lost to the other? In the past few months in which Grantaire and Enjolras had gotten closer, a consequence of Combeferre and Courfeyrac spending more time alone together, Enjolras had come to an important realization. That warm feeling that he had before thought was friendship had expanded, encompassing his chest and his stomach, twisting it into knots that left him on edge during the day and sleepless at night as his brain whirred with the possibility of  _Grantaire_. 

This dangerous emotion had made Enjolras all the more aware of the grace that Grantaire possessed when he moved, be it the hand delicately painting a canvas, the casual drag of a cigarette between his full lips, or a boxing match that Enjolras had been privy to, or the arch of his neck as he lay on his couch, contradicting Enjolras’ ideals with a lazy and practiced air as Enjolras paced the room, desperately keeping his eyes trained on the wall, the ceiling, the window, anything but Grantaire’s prone figure. 

"Calm down, I can feel you thinking from here and it is quite exhausting." Enjolras jumped slightly as Grantaire’s voice pulled him from his pondering of the very man that ambled alongside him. 

Enjolras smiled at Grantaire. “Heaven forbid that you die of secondhand thinking. I’ve heard it kills almost as many as secondhand smoking.” A few months ago that comment would have been caustic and cruel. Now it was delivered lightly, and with a soft shoulder nudge. Grantaire’s eyes flickered and he pulled himself up, holding himself carefully, as if he had to stop himself from saying or doing something. 

Before Enjolras could truly comprehend what had happened in that millisecond, Grantaire was opening the door to his apartment building and Enjolras was following him up the stairs. While Enjolras did occasionally accompany Grantaire home, it was unusual that he would physically accompany him _into_ his apartment. Grantaire’s shoulders were tense, and his eyes darted nervously as Enjolras stepped into his flat. 

"Enjolras, what are you doing here exactly? You have a seven o’clock class tomorrow morning and it’s getting late. I know you’re going to go home and revise stuff for the cause, but you need to get some decent sleep tonight and you sitting here isn’t going to get you there-" Grantaire broke off suddenly as Enjolras pushed him against the door that had just shut behind them, crowding Grantaire’s personal space and gazing intensely at his face as the initial shock was followed by confusion and a flash of lust, before being masked by a carefully neutral expression. 

Enjolras reached out, curling a strand or raven hair around his finger, admiring it’s rough texture. He inched his face closer to Grantaire’s, lifting his other hand to cup Grantaire’s chin. “Do you permit it?” The words left Enjolras’ mouth in a soft breath of air that resulted in a reverent whisper. Grantaire’s eyes widened and nodded, his hands working their way up Enjolras’ back as Enjolras leaned closer.

Their lips met and the curl wrapped around Enjolras’ hand wasn’t quite enough, so he moved his hand to grab a fistful of Grantaire’s hair as he explored Grantaire’s chapped lips for the first time. He felt his heart pounding, heard it in his ears as he tasted wine, a tang of mint and a rush of  _Grantaire_ on the warm lips that moved delicately beneath his. He registered the fact that Grantaire had a hand on the base of his neck, pulling him even closer, and he was oh so aware of their bodies pressed together from one end to the other. He pulled away, feeling lightheaded. 

Grantaire cleared his throat and examined Enjolras’ face before saying. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get it the first time. Could you repeat that?” Enjolras grinned and proceeded to show him just how willing he was to repeat it until Grantaire got the message thoroughly. 

Enjolras was also quite late to his seven o’clock class.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my personal blog [here](http://deanlovescastielswormstache.tumblr.com) and my Les Mis blog [here](http://permets-tu-not-permettez-vous.tumblr.com).


End file.
